A Peculiar Fellowship

Part One

Hobbits were strange creatures. Laradel already knew this, but Master Peregrin Took was reaching heights that Bilbo Baggins never had.

"My lady, may I ask you a question?" he piped up for the umpteenth time as they walked.

"Yes, Pippin," she replied, hiding a smile.

"Why do you cover your ears? All of the other elves braid their hair so that theirs can be seen."

Laradel stiffened at that, and she saw Legolas look over from the corner of her eye. Almost instinctively, she reached up to brush her raven locks forward, to make certain that her ears could not be seen.

Poor Pippin didn't seem to realize that that had been a bad question to ask, and Merry elbowed him in the side.

"Ow! What was that for?"

As the two began to fight between themselves, Laradel slowed in her pace, dropping to the back of the group.

"Lady Laradel?" came the soft voice of her fellow elf.

"Legolas, please..." she sighed. "I wish to be left alone."

"As you wish," he murmured.

With that, Laradel found herself alone with her thoughts once more.

-

Once camp had been made, Laradel set about sharpening her sword. Some elves did not carry large blades, preferring their bows to anything but daggers or elegant spears, but those that did preferred the kind made by their kin. Boromir, however, seemed rather curious as to why Laradel's was not.

"That is a dwarvish blade, is it not?" he asked.

The Hobbits all turned to stare. Gimli watched Boromir with an intense gaze, as if waiting to tell him off on her behalf. He, Legolas, Aragorn, and Gandalf were well aware of the life she had led fifty years ago.

Laradel gave her friend a small nod to settle him, then glanced at steward's son.

"Indeed, it is..."

Boromir's brow creased. "However did you acquire it?

"It was a gift." She noticed the four Halflings were all leaning in, as if expecting to hear a tale, so she obliged. What did it matter if five more people knew of her past?

"Tell me, what do you know of Thorin Oakenshield?"

"The King Under the Mountain?" Frodo asked. "From Bilbo's stories?"

Laradel smiled fondly. "One and the same, dear Frodo."

Boromir hummed. "He's been dead half a century. What of him?"

"When Erebor fell to the dragon Smaug, the dwarves of the mountain were forced to wander from place to place. Thrain did not have heart enough to lead the people, and Thorin took charge. Not long after the betrayal of Thranduil..." - at this name, she sharpened her blade more fiercely, and Legolas looked away - "Thorin found an elven child on the side of the road, alone and crying. In a moment of compassion, he took her as his own. Even so, he could not bear to look upon her, and so, the tips of her ears were cut. He told the child that she was human, and raised her with as much love as he would have given his own flesh and blood. When she lived past the normal age of Men, he told her she must be of the royal Númenorean blood. She would live for at least another century or two. It was only when the company found themselves in the house of Lord Elrond that the child realized her heritage... In her father's house."

The five of them wore varying expressions, though intrigue and disbelief seemed to be a common factor.

"After Thorin fell in the Battle of Five Armies, the one he had loved as a daughter was presented with his blade..."

Understanding passed over their faces.

"And I have treasured it ever since," Laradel finished. "Pippin, you asked why I cover my ears..." Slowly, she reached up and revealed the reason why. "I am not yet adept at ignoring the lingering glances of my kin, even after all these years."

Having said her piece, she stood.

"Now, I know you Hobbits must be hungry... Come come, little ones."

Merry, Pippin, and Sam eagerly followed, but Frodo, Laradel noticed, stayed behind, deep in thought.